


Broken beyond repair

by Vilian



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkwardness, Confusion, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Fix-It, Mild Sexual Content, POV First Person, Post-Battle of Scarif, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-05 00:18:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11566395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vilian/pseuds/Vilian
Summary: Jyn's tale of one evening at a canteen and what was after.2nd chapter added on August 1st, 3rd on August 2nd.





	1. I want my Stormy back

**Author's Note:**

> And now we return to something I apparently find easier to write than fluff, the angst-fest, and a powerful type too, as to me first-person narration is more emotional than third-person one. Please enjoy, hopefully. The story does have a happy ending in Chapter 3, but kind of added as an after-thought closure - still, hope it's a logical narrative.

I wish I had my Stormy here with me. Toys do not betray, do not break trust, do not hurt feelings, especially when you are so very sure you actually don't have too many feelings anymore. I'd feel so much safer with a wooden doll or a stuffed animal behind my back, safe from him - and from myself.

It all has started yesterday. We returned successfully from an infiltration mission, safe but slightly more traumatized by Empire's doings than usually, so we just went to have a quiet drink or two at our canteen. Two awfully pessimistic - or maybe just being realistic? - soldiers, a spy and a thief, good team-mates, friends even. We've seen each other at our best and at our worst; before battles, amidst fire of fights, and after battles; both unable to live too far apart of each other ever since Scarif but never closer than necessary.

We didn't drink much that night, really. But it was nice to talk to a fellow living being about silly things, to not think about atrocities of war even if for just few hours, no objectives to accomplish, no lives to take. I didn't want badly for this carefree time to end so quickly. Cassian had to notice my hesitation to part ways, always a spy, so offered to continue our evening in his quarters. I wasn't sure if this wouldn't be too much of invading his privacy - at cramped base we all need it desperately - but I really didn't want to be alone, yet. Maybe he didn't want, either?

I was spending time at his place only if it was necessary for mission briefings, and it felt very different yesterday, this time almost cosy. Cassian made us each a cup of a herbal tea, grabbed somewhere on one of his highly classified missions. We were happily continuing our mindless canteen chat, childhood happiest memories and friendly banter. Sipping hot beverage, inhaling sweet aroma, we were oddly at peace with situation and surroundings - a rare treat these days.

Finally the weariness started to show up, as both Cassian and I had our share of sore muscles and sleep deprivation. Arrangements for spending the night had became an issue for a short while - it wasn't all that late and it'd be better if no one could notice me leaving my superior officer's quarters, at least better for said officer. Besides, I was too tired to drag butt to the other end of the base to my own bunk. The decision was made quickly though - as friends and companions we were well used to sleeping at weird places and in tight spaces of various vehicles during missions. Why couldn't we share sleeping space outside an assignment? After all, sharing bunk bed is more comfortable than our usual sharing of durasteel floor or muddy ground. Half-dressed, we slipped under sheets to watch some utterly stupid holovid drama. 

It felt safe, with his warm steady breath on my neck. But the holovid story was a teary one, the type you're supposed to watch alone, not even with a cuddly toy - to later go back to it, to cuddle into it with relief. So, I got out of bed, leaving sleeping Cassian behind. I was sitting in cold room until the drama's very end, until the echo of last dialogue and last tune have died out. 

End of projection let the narrow ray of light from refresher light up the bed, so tempting with its warmth and safety of Cassian's presence. To my surprise, I discovered he wasn't sleeping at all, and his dark eyes, shining in that tiny amount of light, were watching me with intensity I've never seen before. My cuddly toy. He wanted to warm me up and so I let him.

We were kissing like we were probably supposed to kiss on Scarif, like if the world was supposed to end right then and there. And it has ended for me, in a way, because that night all the defense I ever had against the world has crumbled into dust. All that left was under our hot fingers - my scars and his scars, my messy hair and his scratchy stubble, our probing lips and twisted limbs, all of our trembling bodies.

In the end, there was nothing between us, no actual intercourse. And yet, Cassian had hurt me so much. If it was simply a case of casual sex, I wouldn't really mind, it's not unusual for stressed out soldiers to seek physical relief, quick shags every now and then. There are no saints in Rebellion, nor in any other army. But I thought we were more than that, that we were friends and had each other's trust. My fault, I let him do the harm. But he could always read me so well, he should've known that there were things he wasn't supposed to do. That there are things belonging to this whole something-more thing I have no longer hopes for, that disappeared years ago with Stormy, with my parents and all the pretences of normal life. That gentle pushing hair strands behind ear, stroking my cheek, entwining hands, kissing my bruises or whispering softly my name are things that belong to rituals of common people, not two soldiers broken beyond repair.

Tonight I'm alone at my bunk. I wish I had my Stormy with me. Stormy was just a doll, I'd be safe with him. He'd never rub salt into my mental wounds, reminding me of all the things I won't - can't - have, would he?


	2. I want my cave back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some time after the canteen night...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And again, I'm developing further a story that should be left alone as a one-shot. Sorry-not-sorry :P

My heart hurts. It hurts, when I'm in emotional pain, and it hurts way too often. Why? Where's my safe cave when I need it?

I think I'm in love with Cassian, really. Such a simple statement, yet such a strong one and I'm still in awe - by the Force, how this could happen? What more, how could I myself simply walk into his bed, fall into his hands?

I'm not entirely sure, but that's what I did. And now it hurts.

Actually, pain in such a weird relationship sounds normal to me, as far as I can recognize normal stuff about relationships. I can imagine plenty of things, but it's completely outside my reach to talk myself into believing that everything is perfectly fine between us. We're both so mangled emotionally; he's so used to hiding all of his emotions deep inside, and my own feelings are right on the surface, completely raw and exposed since he got past through my walls and boundaries. Is it so one-sided as I see it now?

Sometimes I feel like I'm being a kind of intermission, a moment for playing with a pet - and then back to the regular life of a Rebel soldier he goes. It hurts, and it hurts even more when I realize that I no longer can switch between feelings and personalities so easily like he does, a top-spy. Sometimes I want to simply curl up somewhere in the darkest corner of the base and howl like a wounded lone animal - because, even if we're connected somehow, even if rarely a moment can pass without me thinking of him, I'm still all alone. Drowned in Rebellion, we both simply have no time for anything more couple-ish than a quick shag. Only sometimes he tells me about his plans, in which either there's no place for me, or maybe he doesn't consider me worthy to be there?

Still, now I live just for those breaks between our missions, just for those moments of brainless pleasure. It's a time when I don't think about our destroyed friendship or purpose of things, I do not listen to traitorous common sense telling me it is only me who cares. For those single stolen hours I have someone to live for, breathe for, laugh and cry. Stupid? Yeah, kriffing stupid. But I need something to draw my strength from, and whether we have sex, eat together, sleep together or watch holovids together, that's me charging my inner batteries for those empty days that come between. That's me feeling I actually exist, because all the time between is just empty waiting.

One has to pay for everything. For my happiness, coming and going in tiny chunks, I pay with pain tearing my heart apart, I pay with inability to come back to my cave anymore, the hatch firmly closed. Will things ever change? I don't think so. I may have hope for things changing - him changing, me changing, the universe changing, but that's just hope. Rebellions may be built on hope, but not single people lives. Is it worth tormenting myself with hope?

So far, it is. By the Force, as long as I have those slices of time, I have reason to exist within this war-indulged world. What happens when this ends, if this ends? I don't know, and, frankly, I don't want to think about it. I don't want to feel my heart aching again. Besides, I'm no longer afraid he may leave me behind. Since Scarif, we're way too much connected, our fates melted in that fire into one.

Tomorrow Cassian comes back from another of his missions...


	3. I want my hope back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Direct follow-up to Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter that wasn't supposed to ever happen, and yet it's ready, and in (relatively) short time too. After yesterday's discussion with NewLeeland, based around rather heavy Chapter 2, I kind of felt obliged to write for once a "moderately happy ending", so at least you know who to thank for this try at fluff. Interesting experience, but so exhausting - how do people write Rogue One fluff so easily? :D

This time, I thought it's finally over, once and for all. That I have no more reasons to keep myself alive. And yet, something has happened, a lot has happened, and - as certain someone would say - all is now as Force wills it, maybe.

As usual, I was waiting impatiently for Cassian's return from his latest solo assignment. I didn't expect it'd be such a nightmare. He pretty much crash-landed at the base, and was barely giving any life signs when dragged out of the mangled vessel. It looked like a bit of Force work in itself that he was able to pilot that junk while heavily beaten, bleeding internally and with limbs burnt with blaster shots, no faithful droid to help around anymore.

It's not like I can recall much more of that day. Pretending for so long in front of Cassian that my barriers are still in place, even though he has destroyed them completely, I again forgot how to express pain. And yet, in medbay I simply went hysterical, flood gates broken. I had to be sedated so that people and droids were able to take care of Cassian at all. I was sure he wouldn't make it anyway, that the last member of my short-lived Rogue One family would be gone as well. The thought of being again left behind, alone within strangers, made me welcome drug-induced coma as a blessing.

I woke up almost a whole day later to beeping equipment and silently hovering droids. Some merciful soul has put me on a bed right beside Cassian's. He was apparently already after at least one bacta treatment, his fringe over closed eyes still sticky with the substance, and he was looking wonderfully alive. In fact, he was looking more alive than after many of his solo and our joined missions even when there were no actual wounds involved. I think I was more relieved with this beautiful view than when learning about Death Star destruction, and I'm not ashamed of that. I rolled on my side and watching Cassian's deep even breathing, I fell into natural calm sleep rather than chemical one. Curiously, no medical staff seemed to mind my longer stay, no-one came to discharge me.

I woke up again in the middle of the night, slightly panicked due to strange sensation of pressure on my hands. Soft, muted lights showed me that Cassian has left his bed only to slump in painfully looking position on a chair by my bed. Sleeping deeply, he was holding my hands in his own palms. By Force, what was he doing, that kriffing idiot? Not only he was preventing his body from healing up properly, but also he was hurting me as well. I used to tell him over and over again that I hate holding hands, I hate such delicate touch, but secretly I loved this feeling. It's a much more powerful symbol of closeness or love than sex may ever be, so such gestures used to hurt me a lot when I was still pretty sure I'm the only one who has any feelings in this relationship. This whole weird situation overloaded my strained nerves and made me cry again, and of course my muffled sobs just had to wake Cassian up.

He was looking at me from above our joined hands with those dark eyes and again I saw something in that look, something different than what I taught myself to take for desire, a kind of regret maybe? Still keeping my hands in his, he whispered a question in Festian and then started to cry too, freaking me out completely. Confused, stressed out and absolutely clueless on what to do with my crying lover, I just asked him to crawl up the bed. We shared it until the morning, a narrow uncomfortable medbay thing. It wasn't about our bodies this time though, so we couldn't care less - we were finally taking care of our minds, something that bacta can't repair.

Turned out we both had quite a lot of explanations to make, our grieves and fears piled up from way behind our first intimate night, past Scarif even, and so we've talked the whole night through. We were talking and talking, cuddled in tiny bed, swallowing tears, wiping them from each other's faces just to see them appearing again with more of sorrowful words. We were talking and talking, laughing at our blindness, discovering that we both were trying to raise defenses instead of simply admitting how fragile we are against each other. Maybe it should've been me deciphering Cassian's intense looks more correctly, maybe it should've been him seeing through my seemingly detached hunt for pleasure. Maybe. That's not important anymore.

Now we're in this truly together, all the way, in body and mind, an eternal bond forged in fire and blood. No matter if we're in one place or separated by missions, at the base or on horrifying assignments, we have each other. Yes, we do have a share of near-death experiences, close-calls that could end what we have in a blink of an eye. It doesn't really matter, now I understand that in a world of war our feelings are important here and now, because you can never tell what future brings, or takes away. I wish my hope for future was as strong as Cassian's, but hope was stolen from me so many times that I find it hard to think about anything serious in terms of hope. But, I may be broken beyond repair, and Cassian may be too, both children soldiers without families, yet we love and are loved in return. This is my something-more, a miracle I had no hopes for, so maybe I don't need my hope back after all?

**Author's Note:**

> There's a bit of history behind this one, so bear with me.  
> During one of my lovely sleepless nights I was killing time by browsing through really old things, my creations that were wandering with me through various machines since at least 1998. They include things like scanned drawings, digital art, poetry and some short stories. Most of said stories is naive and rubbish, poor plot and style far from readable, but I've found some interesting things too - like a decent micro-story about a relationship of a girl and her beer-buddy going awkward, dating back to 2001; also, a micro story of an one-sided relationship from 2002. Both were written in surprisingly dark manner - or maybe not so surprisingly, since I was in a dark and lonely place at that time. Either way, after reading I was just sitting for a while, switching mindlessly between folders; and then things kind of clicked together, almost in an audible way, when my eyes focused on desktop wallpaper. It's Rogue One - themed, and it took a single look into Cassian's eyes for my mind to start twisting old stories into something new. The short things got translated (now I write solely in English but used to write in my native language back in 2000's) and bits got cannibalized into newest fic. Hopefully mix of old and new turned out at least not much worse than my recent writing activities. Chapter 3 is entirely new work, hope it fits in here even if fluff is not quite my thing to write.


End file.
